"Is this true?" Mr. Hall asked Chick.
Chick shrugged helplessly.
"If I might continue," Miss Davenport said. "As you may know, we've just introduced a new honor system here at the middle school. Among other things, this new system may put students in unmonitored testing situations. And it asks students to report cheating on tests. This week, on Tuesday, Bobby reported witnessing cheating on a geology test in Mr. Niezgockis class. The class had to retake the test on Wednesday, and some students were quite angry. Isn't that right, Paul?"
Mr. Niezgocki nodded.
"This seems to be the point where things started spinning out of control," Miss Davenport said. "Yesterday, on Thursday, Chick and Bobby were involved in a fight on the recreation field. Bobby went to the nurse and reported a head-on collision during a soccer match. But the nurse doubts this, and talked to several students who say they definitely saw Chick punch Bobby in the face. After school there was also some kind of confrontation in Mr. Niezgockis lab, where Bobby sometimes works." She sighed and dropped her pencil. "Then there was what happened today."
Pause. Mr. Hall looked at Mr. Niezgocki. "Sir, are you telling me that my son cheated on your test?"
"I didn't say that," Mr. Niezgocki said. "And Bobby didn't either. He signed his name and crossed it out—that told me he had seen someone cheating. That afternoon I met with Bobby and asked him if he would tell me who it was. He refused to say. And he's not required to. The stipulations of the honor system are clear about that. But I have strong suspicions, especially after I saw the results of the re-test."
"What do you mean?"
"When someone's test score drops thirty points from one test to the other, on the same material, well, you know something's fishy."
Mr. Hall looked at Chick, who was studying something on the floor. For a long moment no one spoke. A giant waste of time, Bobby thought. All these words and ten million more won't give Monk one more second of life.
"Miss Davenport," Mr. Hall said, "has the school decided on a punishment?"
"No, not yet," Miss Davenport said. "Today Mr. Wagner is at a conference. He'll review the situation when he returns, and make a decision."
"I see," Mr. Hall said. "Well, I can tell you that whatever punishment the school hands out will be no more severe than what he'll get at my house. My wife and I are old-fashioned people who try hard to bring our kids up to be decent human beings. Words like honesty, hard work, and integrity mean something to me. Working hard to be the best you can be at whatever you do. It isn't easy bringing up kids these days, what with the junk they watch on TV and at the movies. But we try. I take this incident very seriously."
Nobody spoke.
"Bobby, I'm very sorry." Mr. Hall turned toward him. "I understand that this was a very special pet. I know it doesn't help much, but I will pay for this loss. And I can assure you my son will pay me back. Mr. Ballenger, please accept my apologies as well."
Stiffly, Dad nodded.
"How much does an ... animal like this cost?" Mr. Hall asked. "I have no idea."
"I paid forty dollars for Monk," Dad said, looking at Bobby. "But I bought it from a friend at work—I understand that this kind of tarantula usually goes for about twice that much."
"Well, I suppose we're talking replacement value here," Mr. Hall said, reaching into his wallet. He pulled out four twenty-dollar bills. "Would you rather have a check?"
"No, cash is fine," Dad said with an uncomfortable shrug.
Bobby sat stone still. Eighty dollars. Replacement value. Cash or check. Talking about Monk like he was no more than a busted lawn mower.
"If Bobby has any more problems with my son, I want you to call me immediately," Mr. Hall said to Dad. "Now, I believe my son has something to say."
"I'm really sorry," Chick said to Bobby. His voice sounded surprisingly clear, as if he'd been rehearsing this. "I guess it was an awful stupid thing to do."
Bobby didn't look at him.
"Well?" Dad said to Bobby after a moment. "Do you accept his apology?"
Bobby said nothing.
"Bobby?"
"No!" Bobby drew a deep breath, keeping his eyes focused on the middle of the table.
"Why not?" Dad asked.
"I just don't," Bobby said.
Pause.
"Why don't you guys shake hands and try to put this behind you," Dad said.
"No way!" Bobby said. He looked at Dad and his eyes said, You cant make me.
"Well, I suppose that's his right," Mr. Hall said.
He stood up. "Is that all then?"
***
Dad started the engine and began backing out of the parking space. Neither one of them said anything all the way home. Dad pulled into the driveway and shut off the car. He sat there, hands still gripping the steering wheel.
"What did you think about Chick's father?"
"What do you mean?"
"I just wonder," Dad said. "Either that was one terrific acting job, or I wouldn't want to be Chick going home tonight."
Bobby stared straight ahead.
"I don't get it," Dad said at last. "This kid was bullying you, making your life miserable for over a month. Why didn't you say something to us about it?"
"It didn't seem like that much of a big deal."
Dad sighed and shook his head. "What would you consider a big deal?"
"What happened to Monk," he answered quietly. "That's a big deal."
Dad let out a breath.
"Look, what's done is done. Nothing can undo it. How come you wouldn't just accept an apology from this Chick Hall and be done with it?"
"I can't forgive him." Bobby shook his head.
"Acceptance isn't the same thing as forgiveness."
"No way," Bobby said.
***
He carried Thelma's terrarium into the house, past Mom and Breezy's questioning eyes and up to his bedroom. He brought Monk outside, took a spade from the shed, and dug a hole about a foot deep in a small clearing at the edge of the woods.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, kneeling down. Very gently he placed Monk's body at the bottom of the hole and covered it with dirt.
During dinner Mom and Breezy listened to Dad try to explain what had happened. Bobby didn't speak.
"I'm so sorry Bobby." Lightly Mom touched his shoulder.
"Yeah," Breezy said. "That's, like, the worst."
"Mr. Hall was absolutely livid," Dad said. "I couldn't tell if he was really angry, or just sounding that way so they'd go easy on Chick."
"Mr. Hall has always been real nice to me," Breezy said. "But Luke says he's got a real Irish temper."
Dad handed him an envelope. Inside Bobby could see the green tips of the money Blood money. He dropped it onto the table.
"I don't want it," Bobby said.
"All right," Dad said. He put the envelope back in his pocket.
After supper the telephone rang. Lucky.
"What happened?"
"Nothing." Nothing hut murder.
"What happened, you know, at the office?"
"I can't," he said after a moment. "I just don't want to talk about it."
"Okay. Let me know when you do."
"Yeah," he said.
"I'm so sorry, Bobby."
"Yeah," he said again, and all at once he hated having to play the role of the victim. All that useless pity.
***
Upstairs, Bobby found an envelope on his bed. Inside there was a card and photograph. It was a photograph of Bobby smiling and squatting down next to the terrarium—a great shot of Monk climbing up the inside glass. The card said, I'm really sorry about what happened. I know you really cared about him. Breezy.
He lay on the bed. Snapped off the light. Rolled over onto his pillow and started to sob, pushing his face deep into the pillow so no one would hear.
***
In the middle of the night he woke up, wide awake. He took out the spider journal, and started to write:
October 15
Why couldn't I just accept his apology and be done with it?
1) Because it's too damn easy. Kiss and make up. Shake hands and walk away.
2) Because Chick killed Monk like he was some oversized cockroach. He didn't mean a single word of what he said in Miss Davenports office. He apologized for one reason only: because his father would have ripped off his arms if he didn't.
3) Because Monk came all the way from Africa, a tropical tarantula who met death in an airtight freezer. And that's a horrible way to die.
4) Because I had no right taking chances with Monk's life. I was responsible for protecting Monk, keeping him in a place where he'd be safe. How can I forgive Chick if I can't forgive myself?
6) Because it easily could have been Thelma. It was nothing but dumb luck Thelma didn't get killed instead.
Fourteen
October 22
Last night I saw a fisher spider on the side of the house. I'd seen pictures of them but I'd never seen one in real life. It was ugly and BIG! About three or four inches across but not skinny like a daddy longlegs. This sucker had a body an inch long and thick legs. Fisher spiders don't make webs. They're hunters, like wolf spiders or tarantulas. (I seriously doubt they'd make good pets.)
Seems like lots of big spiders come out in the fall. Wonder why. Could it be that they grow big from a whole summer feasting on insects? Or are there certain large species that come out every autumn? Check on this.
Life has been pretty boring: doing homework, working in the lab, taking care of Thelma, seeing Chick Hall with dry hair every morning. (He got booted off the swimming team.)
Dad tells me I should invite a friend over to the house. Mom tells me I should finish unpacking the stuff in my bedroom. Seems like I'm surrounded by grownups with nothing better to do than give me advice—Dad, Mom, Mr. Niezgocki, Miss Davenport.
Miss Davenport isn't too bad. I went to see her yesterday. She's not half as flaky as I first thought. She listens. She asked me to read her parts from my spider journal. She liked it. Said she never realized how intelligent spiders are.
That got me thinking. Spiders are intelligent, but it's so different from human intelligence. Spiders are born knowing how to make a web, how to balloon up into the air. Its in their genes, like how all birds know how to make a nest. They don't have to go to nest-building or web-making school. They just know.
With us it's all different. We can change the way we act. We can learn from what happens to us.
I keep thinking there must be something important I can learn from what happened to Monk. But what?
"No," Butch said. "No, no, no."
"Why not?" Bobby asked. They were playing chess during lunch; he had just moved out his bishop.
"See, bishops can move as far as they want diagonally," Butch explained. "This is the first thing they teach you in chess camp: knights before bishops. Knights are much slower—they need a head start. Move your knights out first."
"Chess camp?" Bobby smiled, pulled back his bishop, and slid his knight diagonally forward. "Whoa, that sounds like a wild and crazy place."
"Yeah, well, its a lot wilder than you might think," Butch said, studying the board. He moved out his own knight. "Hey, how come you didn't come to the soc hop? It was the warm-up for the Halloween dance."
"Just didn't feel like it," Bobby said, pushing a pawn two spaces forward. "How was it?"
"It was okay," Butch said, shrugging. "Lucky was there."
"Yeah?" Bobby said. Butch matched his move: pawn to king four.
"Yeah. What happened, you guys break up?"
"We were never unbroken," Bobby said. "She's just a friend."
"I've got a theory about guys and girls who are forever saying they're just friends," Butch said.
"I don't doubt it." Now he moved out the king side bishop.
"Anyway, I saw her dancing with different people," Butch said. "I think once I saw her dancing with Chick Hall."
"Got any more good news?"
Butch shrugged. "Thought you said you didn't care."
"You're right, I don't. Your move."
***
That afternoon Bobby walked home in a drenching rain. He plodded along without boots or raincoat or hat, wondering how insects managed to find any shred of dryness on such a day. Cars cruised past. The weather had turned cold. He could feel the wetness seeping through his sweater and slacks, but he didn't quicken his pace. A car eased to a stop a few yards ahead of him. When he walked abreast of it, he saw the window on the passenger side slide open.
"Well, if it isn't Bobby Ballenger!"
Roland Prescott's smiling face beamed out at him.
"How about a lift?"
"Well, I don't mind walking." Bobby tried to hide the shiver in his teeth.
"Come on, you're getting soaked."
"All right," Bobby said. All at once he wanted nothing more than to get out of the rain and into the warmth of that car. The seats were soft and deep, leather maybe. As soon as Bobby got into the car he could see he was getting them wet. "Geez, sorry about that,"
"Don't worry, it's only water," Mr. Prescott said. "You know, I've discovered a place that makes the finest hot chocolate this side of the Mason-Dixon. Would you like to join me for a cup?"
"Okay. Do you have a tissue I could borrow?"
"You can keep it," Mr. Prescott said, handing him one. Bobby blew his nose.
"Thank you."
"Lucky told me about what happened to your spider. I'm sorry about that, son." He shook his head.
"Yeah, thanks." Thanks for what?
"You know, some folks have about as much human kindness as a heartworm in an old dog."
"Have you been using your telescope?" Bobby asked. He was eager to change the subject.
"Oh, yes," Mr. Prescott said. "These clear nights have been great for stargazing, till today. I suppose we were due for a stretch of rain."
They pulled in front of what looked like a small café. A purple neon sign—CHINO'S—was lit above the door. Inside, the place smelled sweet and cinnamony. Mr. Prescott motioned to the corner booth.
"Like I said, they do serve some terrific hot chocolate, and chili, too, if you're hungry," Mr. Prescott said when they sat down. "Are you?"
Bobby shook his head, enjoying the warmth of the room. After a few moments, a stout woman appeared behind the counter.
"Hi, Maddy!" Mr. Prescott called. "Any chance you can rustle us up a couple of your famous hot chocolates? With a double helping of cream."
"Double creams," she repeated and disappeared. A minute later she brought over two enormous mugs crested with cream. Bobby took a sip. He had never, ever tasted anything so good.
"Ahh!" Mr. Prescott sipped and smacked his lips. "Almost as good as the cocoa my mom used to make. This was my favorite thing to drink after football practice—even better than Gatorade."
"You played football?" Bobby asked.
"Every chance I got. Junior high, high school. College, too, until I got injured."
"What position?"
"In high school I played quarterback. In college they moved me to halfback." Mr. Prescott took another sip. "How about you? Do you play?"
"Yes, I love football."
"Really?" Mr. Prescott smiled. "I guess I figured you for more of a one-on-one sport, like tennis. What position do you play?"
"Wide receiver," Bobby said. "I played on the sixth-grade team last year."
"Are you fast?"
"About average," Bobby said. "But I could get open. The coach said I was more quick than fast."
At this Roland Prescott banged the table and let out a laugh, a loud guffaw that startled Bobby.
"Don't you just love the way coaches talk? The things that come out of their mouths? Ha! What else did he say?"
"He said I had soft hands. That's good, right?"
"You bet it's good!" Mr. Prescott was excited now. "When I played QB I used to love to throw to receivers like you! Big guys who could get open and catch the ball!
Are you playing any ball right now?"
"Just touch. They're starting a new tackle league and I want to play, but Mom doesn't like it. She says it's too dangerous."
"Can be," Mr. Prescott said. "Still, if you really want to play, you ought to sit down and talk to her."
"Yeah," Bobby said.
"Here's what I think," Mr. Prescott said, leaning back. He took off his glasses and used his napkin to rub clean the lenses. "Living in this crazy world of ours fills you up with so much junk—worries, tensions—you've got to find some way to empty yourself out. So you can start over, start fresh, and fill yourself up with all the good stuff life has to offer."
Bobby nodded. Another grown-up with advice to share. He was bone tired of advice.
"Some folks have fishing, or golf," Mr. Prescott was saying. "I used to have football—now I've got the stars. Lucky's got her running. What do you have?"
Bobby shrugged. What did he have? Thelma, his study of spiders, and a best friend who lived eleven hundred miles away. All at once it didn't seem like enough. He slipped his spoon into the cocoa but the mug was empty.
"Well, anyway, that's my lecture for the day. Hey, let's have one more, what do you say? Then we're going to get you home so you can get into some dry clothes."
"All right," Bobby said. The cocoa had warmed him from the inside out. Suddenly he felt a wave of drowsiness almost as delicious as that hot chocolate.
Fifteen
Thelma had split into two spiders. Bobby knelt down and stared into the terrarium, but no matter how many times he blinked he kept seeing the same thing. One Thelma was moving around in a corner of the terrarium, and the other remained hiding in the burrow tube he had bought for her the previous week.
Half-panicked, half-excited, Bobby kept looking from one Thelma to the other. It didn't make sense. He couldn't get a clear view of the Thelma hiding in the tube, but the Thelma in the corner of the tank looked terrific, almost brand-new. Her hair glistened. She lifted her legs, restlessly trying to climb the glass.
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